


year one

by foggysundays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Graphic Violence, Hell, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggysundays/pseuds/foggysundays
Summary: Dean is trying to be a good student.





	year one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tifaching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/gifts).



> Merry christmas my dear!  
> This was not what I had planned but it is based on your likes and God, I really hope that you do enjoy this (at least a little).  
> I´m sorry for not writing some Sam for you - I did include him in my first draft, but that one still needs more work, so no-Sam it is for now.  
> Anyway, hope you had an amazing Christmas and all the best for 2019 :)

“N-no, no, please don´t-”

The voice cut off in a scream of fear and pain, terror so sweet that Dean trembled with it, hands shaking as he slowly pushed his knife upwards, the tip of it scratching sharply against bone.

He pulled it back out and relished in the gush of blood that followed it, the wordless sobs and pleas that made his heart stutter and his stomach tighten in pleasure.

“Say it.” He ordered, exhilaration flaring in his chest. He was close, he was so damn close. “You know how to end this. _Say. It._ ”

Breathless silence. Another sob.

Dean growled and lifted his knife once more, trailed it over the raw flesh of the soul´s chest, blade dipping deeper when he reached the unblemished skin of its stomach.

“Say. It.” He repeated through gritted teeth, eyes trained firmly on where his knife sliced through fat and muscle.

He wanted blood, he wanted agony, he wanted submission and surrender. He wanted to be begged for mercy, wanted despair when he denied it.

Only a slow death was a good death, and this soul had yet to learn that.

Another cut, hipbone to hipbone, followed by a long string of symbols that Dean didn´t know the meaning of, but he damn well knew the torment that came with them.

“N-no!” The soul chocked out and twisted helplessly against the shackles securing its ankles and wrists. “Let me go, please, _please_ , let me go.”

Dean laughed and carved even deeper, tearing out a kidney and carelessly tossing it down to where the other junks of flesh and bone were rotting away on the blood-slick floor.

“Say yes, say yes, say yes.” He singsonged and leaned closer to lick over the freshly made cut, savouring the rich flavour of blood on his tongue. It tasted of victory, of surrender.

But instead of agreeing, the soul only groaned in pain and then weakly shook its head no.

Dean´s smile slipped from his face.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Rage flared within him, white and hot and terrible, and he gave in without a second thought, shoving his blade as deep as it could go, again and again and again, until he was slippery with blood all over, pieces of flesh clinging to his bare skin and hair.

It all stopped when long fingers wrapped around his wrist like vices, sharp scales dragging against his skin as the hold tightened, and then Alastair was right _there_ , body pressing against Dean´s from shoulder to groin. Familiar. Grounding. Instantly calming.

„Easy, my boy.“

Dean stopped struggling on instinct and relaxed into the touch with a sigh of relief, the violence gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

For the first time since he had started, the white noise in his head softened, the fuzzy edges of his vision sharping until the body in front of him became solid once more, bones and blood and flesh, the frayed edges of skin.

The soul stared back at him with raw agony in its eyes, dark blood dripping from its lips down its jaw, wet sticky sounds accompanying each labored intake of breath.

Alastair clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Dean, Dean, Dean… Just look at the mess you made, my boy. I taught you better than that.”

Icy claws grabbed at Dean´s lungs and his breathing stuttered, the relief he´d felt only seconds ago turning to fear so fast it made him dizzy.

“Always so impatient, so eager to please. I admire your violence, Deano, but you´re still severly lacking when it comes to grace.”

Alastair withdrew, fingers loosening their hold and Dean felt his panic rise.

You did not displease the Master, not when you wanted to keep yourself off of the rack.

And this was more than simple displeasure. There had been disappointment in Alastair´s voice and that just wouldn´t do.

Dean dropped to his knees without a second thought, throat bared and eyes lowered, his knife clattering to the floor, useless and forgotten.

“Let me try again, Master.“ He pleaded, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Please, I can do better than this.”

It was hard not to flinch when Alastair reached for him, but Dean had learned a long time ago that any attempt to escape his rightful punishment only made it ten times worse.

If his Master wanted to give him pain, then he would gratefully accept it. They both knew he deserved it.

_Useless. Pathetic. Weak._

But the pain never came.

“Shh, none of that, my pet”

Dean nearly collapsed when Alastair started petting his hair instead, a slow caress that had him lean into the touch like a cat, purring from the pleasure of it.

Alastair cradled his jaw and lifted it, gentle and careful, almost tender.

“You´ll do better next time, yes?”

There was no anger in his Master´s face, no promise of pain, just the same warm affection Alastair sometimes wore when Dean had been a particularly good student.

“I promise.” Dean whispered, voice breaking halfway through, and turned his head to press a reverent kiss to Alastair´s palm. “ _Please_. Let me try again.”

Alastair hummed and trailed one of his claws over Dean's lower lip, dipping inside as soon as he opened his mouth. Dean sucked the digit obediently, relishing the taste of sulfur and rotten flesh, the flash of heat in Alastair´s eyes.

“Of course you will. Come on, Dean. Up you go."

Master pulled him upright and pressed close again, both of them turning their attention back to the dying soul that was cowering in front of them, eyes wide and terrified as it tracked their movements restlessly.

Dean couldn´t help but smile.

He knew he was nothing special, just plain and human, even covered in blood and junks of flesh as he was. He didn´t warrant such admiration, didn´t warrant such fear.

Alastair was something else, though. Especially when he was wearing this form.

Everything on him was huge and terrifying, shadows dancing across his dark scales, long sharp teeth gleaming in the low light. His Master was magnificent and _Dean was all his_.

“We will deal with you later.” Alastair said dismissively, and with a snap of his fingers the soul vanished, leaving the rack empty.

Ready to be put to use. Fuck.

Dean swallowed, clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. His place was in front of the rack now, not _on_ it.

But his Master´s eyes brooked no argument. Even thinking such thoughts could easily get Dean into more trouble than he already was in.

So he steeled himself and climbed onto the rack, spreading himself out like an offering, legs opened wide, hands grabbing the jagged edges of the table.

Helpless and vulnerable. Just like Alastair prefered him.

Dean only noticed his own panic when Alastair shushed him, giant hand gently cradling his head in a mimicry of a caress.

“You do not need to fear me, my pet. You have done nothing wrong.”

Alastair´s tail slid up Dean´s leg, the needles at the tip tearing into the tender flesh of his thigh.

“This is a reward, not a punishment. Foreplay, if you will.” Alastair´s smile turned predatory. “We haven´t indulged in each other in way too long, don´t you think? I missed you, Dean.”

“Missed you, too.” Dean whispered, moaning when sharp teeth dragged over his left pectoral.

“Then let me show you one more time how it is done.“ Alastair murmured, pressing more kisses to Dean´s chest. “And pay attention, this time.”

Dean groaned when Alastair pierced the soft flesh of his belly, claws sliding through Dean like a warm knife through butter.

Sticky warmth spread over Dean´s skin down to the soft hairs of his groin and he could feel himself harden, excitement pulsing through his veins with each beat of his long-dead heart.

All he wanted to do was lean back and lose himself in the pain, but he didn´t dare blink. Didn´t dare miss even a second of this.

Alastair´s movements were pure mastery - sure and confident, where Dean was still clumsy and crude, not a second of hesitation, each line as perfect as the one before.

The design was intricate and beautiful and Dean had it memorized, carved into him so many times that it was like a brand on his soul.

This design was special.

It was meant for him and only him.

Dean whispered the words as Alastair carved them, low and reverent, each syllable heightening his excitement.

He could feel the words, taste them. His Master´s claim on his soul growing stronger and stronger with every rune, every second.

“More.” Dean panted, spreading his legs wider so that Alastair could press closer, his blood painting both of their bodies an even deeper red. “Please, please, I need-”

“Shh, my pet. I know exactly what you need.” Alastair grabbed his hips and pulled him in and fuck, _fuck_ , Dean could feel him: impossibly thick, impossibly long, sharp barbs just waiting to bury themselves deep into Dean´s welcoming guts.

“Mine.” Alastair snarled, hips snapping forward, tearing into Dean in one smooth thrust.

Dean screamed.


End file.
